Storytime
by pocketcucco
Summary: A young Ratonhnhaké:ton enjoys storytime with Daddy Haytham. A side story to the AU called Today.


Another sort of side story for _Today, _an AU I wrote some time back. I sort of got inspired for this with all of the ACIV information coming in, haha. And I miss Daddy Haytham.

* * *

_Storytime_

"You are finally back," Ziio said as soon as he came through the door. Haytham didn't even have time to remove his coat before she set a squirming Ratonhnhaké:ton in his arms.

"He has been a nuisance all day," she said before he could react. "Running about the house and asking for stories. I have no time."

Haytham moved his son to the crook of his arm. Ratonhnhaké:ton reached for his hat, and Haytham placed it on his head.

"You've been home all day," he said. "How could you not-"

Ziio's eyes narrowed. Haytham immediately clamped his mouth shut. He knew a losing argument when he saw one.

"Please take him for a while? I need to rest. I've been on my feet since he woke up," she said, gaze softening just a bit. "He adores you, Haytham. Tell him some stories to calm him down."

Haytham barely suppressed a sigh. What did she think _he'd _been doing all day? Sitting comfortably behind a desk while he signed papers? His morning began with a verbal scuffle between Charles and Thomas Hickey, and it ended with a haphazard chase across the countryside. The Assassins were a tricky bunch who refused to be caught.

But Ziio stared at him with those surprisingly gentle eyes, and Ratonhnhaké:ton tugged at the collar of his cape.

"All right. Get some sleep," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I will keep the boy entertained."

"Thank you," she said. Ziio gave his free hand a squeeze before she retired to their room.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pulled more incessantly at his clothes. "Father," he begged, "Ista said you would tell me a story."

"Ah, yes. A story, hm?" Haytham carried the child to the parlor and set him down on the sofa. Ratonhnhaké:ton immediately climbed back onto Haytham's lap and settled in his arms. He watched his father patiently.

But Haytham had no stories to tell. Nothing that came to mind seemed appropriate for a four-year-old boy; all he could think of were his experiences as a Templar, and Ziio would never approve of those.

Perhaps he could tell Ratonhnhaké:ton of his own boyhood adventures? But no... None of those seemed as though they would capture his attention.

"What sorts of stories does your mother tell you?" he finally asked.

"Stories about the tribe."

"Ah."

Well, that didn't help him any.

"What stories did _your_ father tell you?"

Haytham's breath caught in the back of his throat. He looked down at his own son, who was still staring back at him with those inquisitive brown eyes. So innocent, and yet...

"Father?"

"Well." Haytham cleared his throat once, twice. "He told me all sorts of stories when I was a boy. Mostly fantastical ones about his own adventures. I doubt any of them were real, however."

This did not deter Ratonhnhaké:ton, who squirmed ever closer. "What were they about?"

"He would tell me about his days on the high seas, fighting off bands of- you know what a pirate is, don't you? They're sailors, but they can be awfully mean."

His son nodded eagerly. "Was he a pirate?"

"He would sometimes say that he was. But looking at my father..." Haytham shook his head. "He was far too proper when I knew him. But who knows? Perhaps he was, once. A long time ago."

"He went on adventures?"

"All kinds. All across the sea, meeting some sailors and fighting others. Quite the swashbuckling adventure."

"Did he have his own ship?"

"He did indeed. The _Jackdaw_, if I'm remembering correctly," Haytham said with a short sigh. It had been so long since he thought back on all of this, but he remembered those nights with absolute clarity: his father would sit on the edge of his bed, weaving such wonderful stories that were supposed to put a young Haytham to sleep. But instead Haytham would sit up against his pillows, rapt, chin in his hands as he watched his father speak. And Edward Kenway had such a way with words, with expressions and voices.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's small grin mirrored Haytham's own. "Have you been on a ship before?" the boy asked.

"A few times. The last was when I came here."

"Did you fight a pirate?"

Haytham thought briefly of Mills and their fight belowdeck. "Well, not exactly."

"Have you seen one?"

"No."

Ratonhnhaké:ton settled for a moment, thoughtful. "Do you think I'll see one?"

"I certainly hope not. Or at least not until you're bigger."

"I want to see a ship. And pirates."

"One day you might. You will have your own adventures, Ratonhnhaké:ton. But for now you must behave. Don't upset your mother so," Haytham said, nudging his hat down over his son's eyes. The boy only laughed and pushed it back up.


End file.
